


Razors

by amorluzymelodia



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorluzymelodia/pseuds/amorluzymelodia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: May I request a oneshot where the boys and as find out about the reader self harming? i understand if you're not alright with writing this. but it would be a great help if you could.</p><p>Not to happy with this but wanted to post it for the anon who requested it. As always I'm here to help and listen should you need it. Always keep fighting dear.</p><p>Y/N/N: your nick name</p>
            </blockquote>





	Razors

It was my cat.  

Ran through a glass door.  

Got tortured by a monster. 

Not sure where that one came from. 

The excuses kept coming. Whenever anyone noticed your scars you rattled off one of your many excuses for why they were there. But you favorite by far was "it was a hunt". If you said it with just the right amount of meaning in your tone most other hunters dropped the topic, assuming it was a hunt gone wrong; couldn't save the kid, got tortured, something along those lines.  

The hardest to keep it from by far was Sam and Dean Winchester though. You'd known the boys from the time you were kids, you living near enough to Bobby to play with his two nephews who came by on occasion. When you were about fifteen you'd heard Bobby and John talking and after some snooping through Bobby's stuff you'd learned what was really out there. Not wanting to sit and do nothing, you'd opted to hunt from the time you were eighteen, meeting up with the Winchester boys just a few years ago. You'd been hunting with them on and off ever since. 

Today's hunt consisted of a werewolf in search of her pack. But seeing as how werewolves were hard to come by in the middle of nowhere she'd decided to turn the residents of her Podunk town, which is when you and the Winchesters stepped in.  

The hunt had gone relatively well, the three of you taking down the werewolves--who weren't turned at the time--with ease. But unfortunately you'd suffered a long gash running from your side to the middle of your stomach. It was fairly deep and still bleeding as you got back to the motel. You were planning on dealing with it yourself, having patched yourself up on numerous occasions, but Sam came at you with a needle and floss and your plans changed. 

"Okay Y/N shirt off." He commanded and you backed a step away, very aware of the fresh cuts from a few days ago on your side, barely healed. "C'mon Y/N/N I gotta look at that gash." 

"I can stitch it, Sam it's fine." You told him but Dean stepped in. 

"It's easier if I do it." He said and you sighed, slipping off your shirt with Deans help, your tank top next. Luckily there was enough blood that it covered up your self inflicted cuts and the boys focused on sewing up the gash. When he was done Sam ordered you to take a shower, to rinse off the rest of the blood while he and Dean went out to get food. You obeyed quickly, pulling down your shirt and covering the offending scars and cuts that you were terrified they’d see. 

You let the hot water rinse you of the dirt and grime and blood from the hunt, washing your hair twice and making sure to wash the gash carefully, getting all the dirt out of it so it wouldn’t get infected. When you were done you stepped out onto the grimy bath mat and inspected the rest of your now clean body. You should’ve been looking for more gashes, bruises, wounds from the hunt but all that caught your attention were those four little lines on your side, neat and deep and just starting to heal. You picked up your toiletry bag and took a deep breath, slowly searching for what you were looking for. Your razors. 

The hunt hadn’t even been that hard, hadn’t ended poorly—other than your wound—but at this point it didn’t matter. You’d been doing this for years now, using it as a release when things got tough, punishment when you needed it or felt you deserved it for something you’d screwed up. But usually once you started, you couldn’t stop. So once turned into a few days of cutting, and the cuts got deeper, more frequent and without much of a reason. But you didn’t care anymore, almost need it it. And the razors became your best friends. 

Razors don't lie. They never claim to be anything else. You know it will hurt. You know it will bleed. And you know it will scar. There's no uncertainty with razors. 

People lie. People hurt you when you least expect it. They make you bleed at the worst of times. And they leave scars so deep they cut down to your very soul. 

You can't control what people do. 

But you can control how deep the razor goes. 

And there's some dark comfort in that. 

So you slid the razor across your wrist slowly, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline that the pain brought and you took a death breath. It hurt, sure but there was an odd sense of joy that came with it, because sure it hurt, but at least you were feeling something. 

You jumped when someone knocked on the door, and your razor fell out of your hand, clattering on the ground. 

“Y/N we’re back!” It was Dean. “Got you extra onions and a milkshake.” 

“Th-thanks.” You called back. “Be out in a minute.” 

You picked up your razor quickly, stuffing it back into your toiletry bag and zipping it closed. You put on a pair of leggings and one of Dean’s henleys. You walked out of the bathroom and smiled at the boys, accepting a burger from Dean and plopping down on the bed with it. 

Without warning Cas popped in telling the three of you he had intel on angel activity but he stopped mid sentence and looked at you, his brows creased. 

“Y/N you’re bleeding.” Cas said your heart dropped. 

“Yeah she got a wicked gash on her side from a werewolf.” Dean said through a mouthful of food. “Girl’s a badass.” 

“Then why is her arm bleeding?” Sam asked and you stopped breathing. 

All three pairs of eyes snapped to your arm, where sure enough there was a smear of blood seeping through the fabric of the shirt you wore, the light coloring of the shirt making it obvious what it was. 

“Must’ve happened on the hunt.” You said quickly but you knew they didn’t believe you. 

“Let me see,” Sam said. “If it’s still bleeding it may need stitches.” 

“No!” you knew you said it too quickly, too loudly, and your tone made Dean stand up and grab your wrist, pulling your sleeve up. 

“It’s nothing,” you assured them quickly, knowing where their minds would go when they saw the cuts. “Just an accident it’s fine.” 

“That is no accident,” Sam said, his voice low. “Y/N what…how could you do this to yourself?” 

“Why wouldn’t you talk to us?” Dean demanded. “When it’s get this bad why wouldn’t you?” 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said. “Are these…self-inflicted?” 

You stood there in silence for a second before nodding, breaking down in tears. Sam pulled you into his arms while Dean explained to Cas what was happening, what you’d done. Casitel pulled you gently out of Sam’s arms and placed his hand over the fresh cuts, ignoring your protests. When he pulled his hand away they were gone. You looked at him in awe. 

“Why…why did you do that?” you asked and he looked at you sadly. 

“You are strong, Y/N.” he told you solemnly. “You don’t deserve this. I can’t begin to understand what being human is like, what pain brought you to hurt yourself, but please know you are stronger than this, stronger than even you know.” 

“Yeah, kiddo.” Dean said. “Hell I’ve seen you run kids out of burning buildings, literally! You’ve taken more hits than most guys would in their entire lives, and you’re still kicking! You can beat this Y/N.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t know if I can.” 

“You can.” Sam said, his hand on your shoulder. “We’ll help you. We love you, Y/N. And we want you safe, even if it means protecting you from yourself.” 

“Don’t do that.” You said quickly, angry. “Don’t shrink me like this. This is exactly what I didn’t want! I don’t want you seeing me as a symptom, as something to be fixed! I’m not broken!” 

“You’re right, Y/N.” Dean said. “Which is why we’re going to help you. You aren’t broken, but you need help. We all need help sometimes, and it doesn’t make you broken or any less of a person to ask for it.” 

“I don’t know how to stop.” You said wearily. “I’ve been d-doing this for so long. I don’t know if I can stop.” 

Castiel sat on the bed next to you. “Then let us help you.” 

“Just talk to us, sweetheart.” Dean said kindly. “When it gets bad, when you feel the urge we’ll figure something else out for you to do. Go to a shooting range or something.” 

“You can come on runs with me!” Sam offered excitedly, nodding at you. “Let us help you, kiddo, we love you and we want you to be safe.” 

You nodded, still crying and the boys and Cas hugged you tightly, forming a sort of circle around you and squeezing tightly. And you thought, maybe, with their help things might alright.


End file.
